A MarySue: Grit your teeth and get it over with
by Sinuriel
Summary: Enter Lucy - dentist's assistant. Hit by lighting, she falls into Middle-earth, and realizes to her horror: She is a MarySue!
1. And it got worse

**A Mary-Sue**

Grit your teeth and get it over with

* * *

Disclaimer: As usual, all copyrights lie with Tolkien, his heirs and estate.

This is an authorized translation of a German fanfic by zita. Both zita and I worked very hard to be able to serve this to you.

This fanfiction was a response to the challenge below. Amélie, the one who issued it, is the beta-reader of zita.

"_I wish for… I wish for…. A Legolas Mary-Sue…  
Only conditions: a suffering Thranduil, and a musical Boromir should appear in it  
And all that I would like to have arranged by zita._" (Amélie)

To which zita's answer was: "I am lucky enough to have a really great betareader – said Amélie – and if she utters a wish, then of course I will set to work. Even if I had the impression THAT wish WAS the revenge for all the mistakes she ever had to correct."

For each of the ten chapters, I will add all notes zita made at the beginning of a chapter, and her disclaimer.

I swear solemnly that everything was as close a translation as I could manage.

Many thanks here to _my _betareader, True Colours, for nitpicking and helping me polish this chapter.

On with the show.

* * *

_**Chapter 1: And it got worse**_

_**Or: Is your OFC from Modern-Day Earth? Got to Middle-earth by mysterious means?**_

Do you know that feeling? One lives through the darkest hours of one's life and thinks it couldn't get any worse. Oh, you know that feeling. Then I won't have to be too detailed about what I felt that morning.

Which morning? Well, it was that one morning when I entered the office and found my boss, the esteemed dentist Horace Wilbur, sitting dead at his desk. Bad enough in itself, but it was Monday and as I was informed by the nice police officers – after finally having stopped retching in the bathroom – he had probably died Friday afternoon. Horace had been dead the whole warm, nice summer weekend, in his practice, which just happened to be my means of existence. It was warm, as I had turned off the air conditioning when leaving on Friday, and Horace didn't look very much like himself anymore. To be precise, he was beginning to fall apart and stank to high heaven.

Yes, the smell should have really made me think. On the other hand, as an assistant to a dentist, one is used to some foul smells if one or the other patient opens his mouth. And I'm not exactly at my best in the mornings. It takes time until my brain has sorted through external stimuli. And who would expect to find his boss dead? _Heart attack_, said the coroner, who greatly resembled Rumpelstilzchen. I don't know how he managed to identify it as such, but at least there was no scalpel in Horace's back and no mad serial killer had tried to gouge his eye out with a drilling machine.

Anyway they sent me home and told me I shouldn't worry about any crimes and just rest. _And how? _I would like to have yelled at them. _This is Long Island, the rents are high and the job offers not many, either._

_

* * *

_

And so I spent long hours that day in my tiny apartment, stared at the wall and brooded over what would happen to me now. At some point I found myself in front of the mirror in my bathroom and stared at the person that had been robbed of her comfortable, quiet future, meeting my stare with undefined brown and something coloured eyes.

"Hello, Lucy," I greeted her with a humourless smile. On the side I noticed that my most beautiful features were my teeth. Very regular, very white – what you might expect from a dentist's assistant. The remainder is not worth any mention. I am twenty-four, average height, average weight and with average shoulder-length hair the same undefined brown as my eyes. "Your savings last for two months. Find another job."

Despite my grief for Horace I would do precisely that. But only tomorrow; it was already too late for today. It was already exceptionally dark outside, but that didn't keep me from changing into my running shorts, grey tank top and the somewhat worn shoes that had seen better and cleaner days, and then setting out to run away my worries_._

Yes, run away, and not from them, even if ill-meaning tongues might say that, but simply to forget them. That's what happens to me when I run through the expensive neighbourhood, in which, as an average mortal, one is not exactly in paradise – I forget my worries for a while.

The inhabitants of the expensive mansions fared better, sitting in front of their designer fire places, wearing designer house robes and being nicely cooled by their designer air conditioning. I'm not the jealous type, but on that day I was predictably not in the best mood.

Maybe it was because a thunderstorm was looming ominously over my head. One of which I hoped I would be home before it began. Did I tell you that it wasn't exactly my lucky day? It began to rain, no, downpour, as I rounded the corner to a path that led to a nice wooden bridge, which crossed a small stream.

The thunderstorm decided to begin in earnest as I was about fifty yards away from the bridge. A really impressive bolt of lightning lightened up the otherwise ink-black sky and my heart almost stopped as I saw a small shape that prepared to hurl itself over the railing of the bridge.

"No!" I screamed, because it was clear what the shape there in front was planning. Nobody took a swim in this weather, which caused the stream to swell and become very dangerous.

I could have saved that breath. The suicidal person of course jumped over the railing, and I still ran a bit faster. One corpse a day was enough for me. Two corpses were not to be borne, and additionally people could be led to the conclusion that one was bad luck.

I really was prepared to jump into the floods to save that poor suicide, but as I arrived at the bridge and looked over the railing into the churning masses of water underneath that moved with the speed of a race car towards the Atlantic, I couldn't care less about my reputation. I'm no hero; I am a dentist's assistant. We save teeth, not human lives.

So I stood there at the railing, stared down and wondered if maybe I had trodden on the toes of someone really important in a past life. Maybe I had just been born with genes calling bad luck. I don't know; my parents had preferred to leave me in front of a hospital and disappear very quickly. Soquickly that not even surveillance cameras caught more than a shadow of them. Oh yes, I really was loved from the hour of my birth on!

I stood there quite a while, above me the raging thunderstorm, below me the raging stream, and on me several litres of rain that transformed me into a soaked piece of human misery. Maybe I should also jump and all my problems would end… I dismissed that solution very quickly. There would always be bad teeth, dentists, too, so I would find a job somewhere. If I didn't die from pneumonia before that.

Well, in the end I didn't die from pneumonia. It was quicker, a lot quicker, and mainly had to do with lightning that struck the bridge a yard away. I remember that, and also being thrown through the railing.

_This is it,_ was my last thought. _Say goodbye to the world, Lucy, it won't miss you._

_

* * *

_I fell.

Not very long, but long enough to have a few thoughts about this falling. Actually I had expected this tunnel at the end of which a light would await me. Of course I could be on my way to hell, and the way to there, which somehow would lead down, forewent the tunnel and the light. The details might be different in both directions.

Anyway, I was merrily falling, there was a dull roaring – the river might have been responsible for that – and I wondered if I would catch up to the guy that had thrown himself of the bridge shortly before me. Before I could arrive at a conclusion the fall ended.

The impact, which was definitely not on a watery surface, was so strong I remained lying and winded. I kept my eyes closed tightly, trying to delay the inevitable encounter with Lucifer's receptionist. It wasn't warm, I noticed after a while. More like shadowy, but at least dry. But the ground rocked somewhat, and it felt soft.

And it smelled.

I didn't mean that it smelled bad. It just smelled strange. Very unfamiliar. Eyes still closed**,** I felt my surroundings. The softness turned out to be sort of mattress on which I had landed. And the smell… It seemed to be made out of leather or something similar. But not only leather, directly below me was something hard... Yeah right, understood, I didn't mean THAT.

I decided after all to finally open my eyes.

One will time and again reach a wrong decision, but of course one will only know afterwards.

To open my eyes was a wrong decision like that. I saw, and clearly and defined at that, the face of a man.

A DEAD Man!

He lay below me or I on top, but however one put it, there was a corpse and I was in close contact with it. The third dead in one day, one may forgive my nerves. That was too much!

With a piercing cry I crawled away from him, noticed I was in a boat, became completely hysterical, jumped up and… well, we capsized. Head first I met the cold waters, closely followed by the body, which further pushed me underneath the water. I struggled and hit, dislodged it, reached the surface fully and screamed again. The boat had drifted _quite_ a bit by now, directly towards the waterfalls…

_Time to faint,_ I thought**,** still screaming as I realized what these really big, loud waterfalls were about to do to me. I just really wanted to implement the fainting optionas next to me a long blade rose from the floods.

Have you ever seen any of the movies about the Arthurian legends? Almost always there is a scene in which Excalibur rises from the water. One has to imagine this similarly, but without the screaming woman in the water. Because that's me and the sword was not Excalibur, but the dead clung to it.

With wide-open eyes and gasping for air his head broke the surface. He seemed somewhat confused, not really on top of things and seeing me didn't exactly make him overjoyed if I interpreted the pure shock in his noticeably beautiful grey eyes correctly. The zombie liked neither me nor the river and after a short cry, which after a manner sounded pained, he slowly submerged again.

I hesitated for really only a short moment, but then I willingly took the chance to get the third dead in one day off my list. I grabbed dauntlessly into the water, where funny little waves and a few bubbles marked the place the dead man had sunk. I managed to grab hold of long hair and ruthlessly pulled them, until the ex-dead man surfaced close in front of me.

I really didn't have much time to worry about his eyes, turned upwards and into the skull. It was slowly but surely becoming a pressing matter to get away from the waterfall. A short look around told me that we should steer towards the shore as fast as possible. Sometime in my youth I had had a class in lifesaving. Though I have to say that it was far easier to grab a classmate of the same age and drag her to the edge of the swimming pool than to try and navigate a relatively big man in heavy clothes through the current of a river.

I don't think I was overly gentle with him, and he surely swallowed some water at one point or another while I moved us both very inelegantly towards the shore on my left. I only wondered that I managed at all to escape the current. My arms in fact got ever heavier, and additionally my legs, but with the determination of a survivor I fought towards the shore that was closest to us.

Nobody can imagine how relieved I was when I finally felt the riverbed underneath my feet and instead of swimming could walk through the water until it only reached my hips. My alarmingly lifeless companion I supported so that he floated on his back on the surface and was a lot easier to pull. I would have liked to finally get on dry land, but the shore was simply steep, trees and bushes reached to the water and I could have never gotten that man up there.

So I continued to wade, the eyes fixed hopefully on an area about a hundred metres in front of me, where the shore was extended into the river less steeply. In addition, there rose a huge bollard from the water. Sign of life, civilisation! Hooray, rescue was near.

The worried, helpful crowd was a long time coming. I had to drag my charge onto the pebbly beach all by myself. No easy task if one is already totally exhausted and the rescued makes absolutely no move to help even a little. I dragged him by the shoulders over the hard ground, and didn't even feel a twinge of conscienceas his skull collided with a somewhat bigger stone while I – with a gasp - flopped down on my behind next to him.

Saved!

Still winded**,** I squatted on the stones and observed my surroundings absentmindedly. The lightning had to have set in motion some sort of scientific phenomenon, which had whisked me from the small wooden bridge to a different location. An unknown location, without a doubt. The river in front of me was very broad, more like a lake, and disappeared into the mist five hundred yards to my right in the middle of which a rather impressive rock could be spotted. Going from the roaring, which thank God was no longer that loud, the river ended in a rather not small waterfall. Of the boat I had landed on nothing was to be seen. I figured it drifted in pieces in the river somewhere further down.

Whatever I could make out from the shore was not really reassuring for an urban human, even one from a small town. This was pure nature, really. Trees, bushes, just this little bit of shore on which I was resting and in addition the air had this strange smell that could only stem from the fact that it was unpolluted. I had landed in a goddamn wilderness!

I turned and suspiciously eyed the undergrowth behind me. In a wilderness there were wild animals. With my luck, any moment a hungry bear would stumble out of the forest.

But to my relief everything stayed silent and with a sigh I turned to the problem lying next to me on the ground. In the water he had seemed tall, but sprawled like that on land he seemed even taller and more unfriendly, to be honest. And he definitely had a screw loose going by his clothes and the sword he still held tightly in his right hand.

I moved away a little. A crackpot with a thing for knighthood. And I was stranded here with him. I probably should be glad he was unconscious. Guys like him I knew far too well. My last boyfriend, dear Kevin, had the same psychological affliction. In the six months I went out with him he dragged me along to two medieval festivals and a Lord-of-the-Rings convention. I had met enough guys there who wore clothes like that and waved plastic swords about.

Though I noticed with slight panic that my special friend here was holding a real sword and additionally he had the most sophisticated costume I had ever encountered. The long leather tunic with the ornate rivets and his boots had to have cost a fortune. Kevin would have been pale with envy.

I paled more out of fear. The guy looked really authentic, everything about him, even the cuts.

One might forgive me for becoming slightly dizzy. He really had cuts and holes in his clothes. The whole affair was getting ever creepier. A few of these freaks might have met here, nicely secluded, performed their sword fights and this guy had been left behind.

Again I looked around hectically. It could after all be that instead of a bear a group of these crackpots would show up and be displeased with me saving the alleged murder victim. I was lucky yet again; they had to have left already. Had probably returned to their vans and were driving back to their families that had no idea that these medieval fanatics had just massacred one of their buddies.

I bit my lip anxiously. What should I do with him? He was not faring well and it didn't look like as if a rescue helicopter was about to show up. If he died while in my care the park-keepers might think I had killed him. Also it would distract me.

I crawled closer to my knight and began to divest him of his expensive costume. It should actually be a delight to undress good-looking men. It probably is, if they are really alive and the clothes not dripping wet. As it was it was quite difficult. After my time with Kevin I at least had some experience with these antiquated articles of clothing and all those strings and buckles were not too big a problem. Despite that, it is not exactly a joy to get a motionless limp body out of wet leather. Every now and then he groaned. I admit, I did not have the practised touches of a nurse and at times I pulled his arms a little roughly.

I should have let him in a dressed state, honestly!

He was a really handsome fellow, muscles without end, but beneath his left shoulder was a really ugly hole in his flesh. It was definitely not from a sword, more like a lance or something similar. I couldn't care less, it was there and it was a problem.

Did I tell you that I take a belt with a bag with me whenever I go for a run? Always prepared, is my motto. There are a few band aids, a bottle of spray-on band aid, an adhesive dressing for sprained joints, healing salve for encounters with brambles, a few handkerchiefs for mopping up after surprising indigestionand a comb for the unexpected meeting with the man of my life.

The comb I didn't need at the moment. A band-aid was better. One had to be an optimist and treat a stab wound with band-aids and healing salve. Who knew that it wouldn't do wonders? After all, he had survived until now just like this. The band-aid was almost high-tech medicine.

Nonetheless, something wasn't right with my knight. He simply seemed too exhausted for a single stab that didn't even bleed anymore. I hesitated for another moment, and then seated myself behind him. The guy was heavy, but I managed to lift his shoulder and heave him into an upright position.

"Jesus!" I groaned as I saw the disgusting stab wound in his back. Apart from the slight dizziness that befell me again, it was rather clear to me that I couldn't do get any further with a band-aid here.

A hand! The wound was a whole hand long and looked really bad, and additionally it was gaping apart. The guy would die faster then I liked. It was horrible. My stomach revolted.

"Think of something, Lucy!" I murmured and swallowed back down what the activity this morning above the toilet bowl had left to come back up into my throat now. "Stitch him back together."

That would have been a brilliant idea if I had a sewing kit with me. With rising despair I went through my options and concluded that the band-aid would have to be enough. I would simply have to hold the edges of the wound together and keep them there with a band-aid.

It took a while until I was willing to grip with my thumb and index finger and put my plan into action. Almost immediately I shrank back. That prickled in my fingertips. No idea what the fellow had on him, but it was like having contact with an electric fence.

I furrowed my brow. Did that have to do with the lightning? Whatever it was, it did not let up as I, with renewed determination, pushed together the wound's edges and then placed the band-aid with my free hand after I had pulled of the protective cover with my teeth. It wasn't overly sterile, but I would like to see the knight complain!

After that I was sapped of energy. My knight lay with a bared torso in the sunshine on the shore and slowly dried. I sat next to him, stared on the water's surface and slowly dried as well.

What was I doing here?

Actually, where was I?

And how did I get here?

I did not find an answer to any of these questions. On the other hand these questions have kept mankind occupied since the Stone Ages, so it was unlikely that of all people I would be able to answer them now.

* * *

Around me it was nearing dusk, my clothes had dried in the meantime, except the shoes of course, which I had taken off and placed on a flat stone, and I had gotten no step further. There was as of yet nothing to hear of the rescue helicopter. The only noises emanated from the forest and those weren't really to my liking. Nature is quite the loud business, I noticed, and it didn't help that my knight moaned every now and then. Such a painful, tortured sound from the depths of his throat that sent a shiver down my back.

"Stop that!" I hissed at him at some point. "You only have yourself to blame, mister! One does not play around with sharp, pointy blades. What should I say? I was just standing on a bridge and was struck by lightning! Am _I _crying?"

I did that, some time later. Lonely and alone, in the middle of the night, clad only in a cotton shirt and shorts, a half-dead man next to me and without a job! One may cry under these circumstances.

At least for a while. Before it became too dark, I pulled myself together to look around the near perimeter. It could be that there was a parking lot behind the next bush, with the knight's car on it.

No, it was not there!

Surprised?

No, I didn't think so.

But I found something different. A boat or canoe or whatever. The hobby-knights seemed to have fought on water as well. The boat was really nice. All wood, nicely ornamented and probably obscenely expensive. Maybe it belonged to my knight. And if that was the case, then - hidden beneath the awning – the gear, at which I took a closer look, probably belonged to him as well.

Great, judging by the food, I was in Sweden!

At least the piece of crisp bread wrapped in leaves seemed to be a clear hint. So, I wouldn't die of hunger until tomorrow morning. And also not freeze to death, because there was a blanket that seemed somewhat thin but at least was nice and dry. And a water bottle, I mean, this drinking thing made from leather or whatever for medieval heroes. There even was a bit in it.

I took the crisp bread and blanket out of the boat and then contemplated the bow and quiver with arrows that were lying around. Maybe I could use the quiver to strike a decrepit rabbit dead with and spice up the crisp bread meal. Or I could use an arrow to skewer a fish. Sushi is healthy and not difficult on the stomach. I didn't have any hopes for grilled fish. There was no fire lighter here and I wasn't even going to try rubbing two stick together in the hope they would give up at some point and go up in flames.

With the gear I groped back to the shore with naked feet, where the half-dead knight slept the sleep of the healing. His breast rose and fell at least, so he couldn't be dead.

For all intents and purposes I had earned the right to the blanket, but his skin was chilly and it simply was not nice to see a fellow like him shiver from the cold. Overwhelmed by my generosity I covered him and pushed his scrunched up, again dried shirt underneath his head. At least now I had the opportunity to take a closer look at him.

He looked quite handsome, actually. The face was narrow and even, though marred by a three-day beard that seemed to come with knighthood. Dark blond hair that had to reach his shoulders framed his features, which probably had a healthy tan if not for blood loss and drowning causing insufficient blood circulation. And his eyes were grey**,** I remembered.

In normal life he probably was a banker or architect or something that brought a lot of money each month. Enough at least to keep this strange hobby and be killed by like-minded people.

And he had a really beautiful sword. I know that stuff, thanks to Kevin. That fellow had turned my apartment into half an armoury. Only none of the stabbing implements he had would measure up to what lay a little ways beside my knight. If his mates had had similar weapons, I wasn't surprised that he was in this bad a state.

I just couldn't resist. Carefully I reached across him and took the sword. It lay in my hand quite well, even if it wasn't quite custom-made for me. I moved it from side to side somewhat critically. The sword was heavy and I had to use two hands to really be able to hold it.

But it was sharp and pointy. So a short while later, I stood there, up to the thighs in crystal clear water, held the sword with the tip downward and waited for a package of fish-burgers to swim by me. One of course had no other hobbies…

Time passed and a tiny one swam by my feet, one that wasn't even suited for an appetizer. I stirred the water a bit – with the sword – to scare it away and make room for a big fellow, as a noise came from behind me. I froze in the middle of moving. That had sounded like an ill-tempered bear or an enraged aurochs or a monster. No idea, I had never met one of these three species before.

The noise repeated itself and I remembered that the knight lay on the shore completely defenceless. With the courage of a hysteric I grabbed the sword somewhat harder and turned around to demonstrate to the unknown attacker that one didn't simply grunt about here.

"Wah!" I cried in surprise and let the sword drop.

My knight didn't lie anymore, but sat upright and stared at me most irritated.

"Don't move!" I warned him in the next step and then fished around in the water to find the sword again. "I am armed."

He raised an eyebrow and watched on as I recovered his sword from the river to brandish it in his direction.

"There! With a sword!" I cried triumphantly.

"…That's my sword," he said after a short break andwith a slightly hoarse voice**,** and tilted his head.

"So what?" I hissed nervously.

"Keep it steady, my lady, else you will hurt yourself," he sighed after another pause.

Heaven, was that a distinct crackpot. One with a wonderful voice, but definitely overdue for a long therapy. Lady! He didn't even find his way back to reality when one slashed open his intestines.

He fingered his shoulder a little, pushed a hand into his back and cut a slightly strange face. Then he got up slowly, all the while in undeniable pain.

"I would remain lying if I were you," I advised with my best Florence-Nightingale-impression. "Those stabs are rather impressive."

"They are from Uruk'hai," he clarified with a shake of the head and looked around slightly uncomfortable. "Are you alone? Where is Aragorn?"

Since I had spent half a year with Kevin, it was unavoidable that these words caused certain alarms to go off. Moreover, I had watched the movies, read the books a few years back without much interest but a strong sense of duty to a complete education and spent whole evenings with Kevin and Kevin's mad friends who took apart every detail of the movie. Well look at that, my knight was a Lord of the Rings fan, one of the hardcore kind who re-enacted the scenes.

"Aragorn is gone," I helped him along. "And the whole company as well. They exaggerated a bit, my friend and almost left you here to die."

"I was dead," he said more to himself. "And I remember that I was on the way to my sires. Then I was drawn back and I saw your face."

I nodded in a friendly way. If he went on like that, he would remember where he had put his car tomorrow morning. And where the keys to it were…

He stalked up and down the waterline a little. For a near dead he had recovered rather quickly. Maybe the wounds weren't as bad as I had thought. Both were good, it saved me another dead.

Suddenly he stopped near me and stared at me piercingly. "Did the Lady of the Golden Wood send you?"

"Huh?" I said, somewhat monosyllabic.

"Tell me your name," he required, still rather deep within his role.

"Lucy," I stuttered, alarmed.

"Lucy," he repeated slowly. **"**That is an unusual name for an Elf-maiden."

Ah, an Elf-maiden. My Boromir-double – for nobody else fit – had to be extremely short-sighted in his real life. The journey in the river water had probably dislodged his contact lenses. I pass for much, most probably an oversized Hobbit, but definitely not for an Elf. Although…

I swear, I didn't intend to do it. Honestly! But some strange compulsion overcame me and my left hand moved up to my ears. Boromir performed a real jump as I wailed as soon as my fingers touched the pointy ends of my formerly so normally rounded ears. Next I stared into the water surface beneath me and didn't pay attention to the fish but to my mirror image.

Despite the waves, it was sufficient to undo me. That was me **–** and again, it wasn't. An Elf-maiden stared back at me, with wide, violet blue eyes, long dark lashes and incredibly beautiful features. My dark hair gleamed and, at my temples, was plaited into thin braids, which vanished behind the pointy ears towards the back of my head.

Suddenly my throat was dry. I had heard about that. Even read about it. One of Kevin's acquaintances – that woman with whom he had cheated on me after half a year of relationship – really liked those and always talked about them.

I was a goddamn Mary-Sue, imprisoned in Middle-earth!

* * *

_And the first chapter is done... Thoughts, impressions, criticism will be forwarded to the original author. Mistakes are my due. Flames will be used for a nice barbeque._

_Answers to reviews will be at the end of the next chapter.  
_


	2. It didn't get better, anyway

Disclaimer: As already said, all copyrights lie with Tolkien, the Tolkien estate and his heirs.

zita's notes to this chapter: "I had forgotten this with the first chapter, but wish to add this now. The subtitles are free translations of the just genius Mary-Sue Litmus Test of Gil Shalos. There, too, no violation of copyrights is intended. The list was of enormous help to me, even if I could only follow a tiny part of the rules."

I wish to point out that the subtitles of the chapters were then freely retranslated to English. They probably will be close, but not exactly what the original in the Litmus Test is.

Another note: OFC is an acronym for 'Own Fiction Character' or 'Own Female Character'. Means a character a fanfiction author created.

**And in this place, once again many thanks go to my betareader, True Colours. You rock, girl!**

**

* * *

**

**2. Chapter: It didn't get better, anyway**

_**Or: Does Boromir fall in love with your OFC? Is their togetherness **_**_tender _**_**and moving? Do they cry?**_

'_You've done it again!' The clear accusation in the speaker's voice couldn't possibly be missed. 'Why don't you take better care?'_

'_I know. But it was an accident. There are simply so many at the same time that I didn't look closely enough.'_

'_It disturbs the harmony. He doesn't like it when the harmony is disturbed.'_

'_Couldn't he bring her back?'_

'_The disturbance can't be undone that way.'_

_

* * *

_"Are you better?"

Automatically I tried to raise my head, but a large hand came to rest on my neck and pressed my skull back between my drawn knees. "Wait a while, my lady, you still seem somewhat hysterical."

I babbled something indistinct and continued to stare at the stones, as far as I could make them out in the light of the fire that the ever-helpful Boromir had started. No idea how he had managed that. Probably witchcraft. I giggled hysterically.

"Lucy?" The son of the cracked steward of Gondor, who probably was more normal than I at the moment, sounded seriously concerned. "I didn't mean to frighten you like that."

"Di… Di…" Somehow the word didn't want to go further. I raised my head after all and stared at him with tearful eyes. "Didn't. No, you didn't. I'm not scared. Not me. I never scare."

One could clearly see that he didn't believe one word of what I had said. Shaking his head, he took the blanket and placed it around my shoulders, patted my head a little helplessly and sat down on the other side of the fire. Boromir didn't seem on top of things either. I think that having been slain and returned from the dead in one day wasn't even the thing that was troubling him the most. Worse was probably my little show after I had realized what had happened to me.

If I what remembered and had pieced together from Boromir's politely reserved remarks was correct, he had saved my life not once, but twice. In the first place he had been in the water fast enough to bat away the sword, on which – with my grace – I would inevitably have fallen during my collapse, and additionally the hero of Gondor had kept me from falling head first in the river and drowning. We were definitely even.

"Were you robbed?" he ended the break in conversation.

"Robbed?" I echoed, not overly bright.

"I just thought…" he murmured**, **and his gaze involuntarily slipped over my naked legs, which showed beneath the blanket.

What does a Mary-Sue say in such a moment? The truth? I doubted that this experienced warrior would really believe me if I began telling of another world, portals and Tolkien. He already thought me cracked, and after a speech like that he would probably tie me up and throw me back in the river. What was its name again? Antonin or something like that, I wasn't sure. Moreover, the lake had a different name altogether. I decided it would be better if I circumvented the name giving.

"I don't know." It wasn't even that much of a lie. After all, I am no physicist. I didn't even know how electricity came out of a socket, nothing to say about how lightning could transport harmless runners to fantasy worlds. "I only remember being hit by lightning, then I woke up in the boat."

"Ah." He even believed me. Great, apparently everything was possible if one had pointed ears. "Where are you from? Lothlórien?"

Welcome to the minefield, I thought. It couldn't be Lothlórien, as Boromir had just come from those woods, and in the end he might decide that we should return to them. I am not very good with remembering names, but when one perforce watches the movies several times, things tend to stick. Even if one was knitting a pullover, reading books or doing jigsaw puzzles at the time. "No."

Though the friendly ex-dead opposite me remained silent, his gaze was really piercing. Boromir was waiting for an answer.

"North," I explained with a grand gesture to the right.

He furrowed his brow. "That is west."

"Really?" Should I after all confess to this 'I was dead and transported to Middle-earth to steal the best scenes from the Fellowship' story? "I'm confused."

"I hadn't noticed," he murmured dryly, stoking the fire with another branch. "Where did you learn to speak our tongue so well?"

I paused. Did I? We spoke English. Or didn't we? Then it could only be Mary-Sue-Magic that dealt with the language barrier. I wondered what other special skills I had been given. Sword fighting was probably not among them. I hadn't even been able to stab a fish with it and the hilt hadn't exactly felt familiar in my hand.

"Good teachers."

That was sufficient for him; how nice. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he suddenly looked very exhausted. The day hadn't been easy on the poor man. First almost massacring the Hobbit, then saving the other Hobbits, slain by a black-skinned monster, having a boat ride, capsizing, saved by a mad Elf, saving a mad Elf… That's what I call stressful.

"We should follow Aragorn," he sighed, and sleepily blinked at me.

"Tomorrow," I consoled him. "Better get some sleep."

"Milady…"

He meant me. There was nobody else. "Yes?"

"This frank manner of speaking…" Boromir cleared his throat. "Your instructors surely made a mistake there."

"We nearly drowned together; that creates bonds. Call me Lucy." I couldn't bring myself to adopt his formal style of speaking. That would be as if I was accepting what was happening here. I still had a slight hope of awakening tomorrow morning in a hospital and appearing as a lightning victim in the local news.

For a short moment I considered if we shouldn't keep watch in turns. Hadn't there been Orcs around? But then I remembered that all of them had either been killed or were on their way back – where were they headed again? – to deliver the Hobbits. Nothing much could happen to us. And additionally Boromir, the only capable guard of our team, had just fallen asleep sitting and was squatting in front of me like a Peruvian mountain-mummy.

* * *

Boromir sat on the edge of the canoe and watched me, shaking his head. "That is not very appropriate, Lucy."

I decided it would be better to keep my silence about the fact that in my world or time or whatever this would have been called very modest. Boromir, like a gentleman from a fairytale, had sacrificed his tunic so I that I was at least halfway normally clad. Not that it made much difference for him; the guy still wore a beautifully embroidered shirt with sleeves to the elbow and the long leather tunic which wasn't exactly cut sparingly.

His dark red tunic, made from light wool, was to me an almost knee-length dress. A leather strap from the gear substituted as a belt, and the blanket, which wasn't a blanket but a cape from Lothlórien, hung from my shoulders. Underneath the dress a pair of really nice Elven legs glimpsed daylight. Certain aspects of this mishap I did find enjoyable, such as the total absence of cellulite.

Some, however, I liked less, among them that I had to squat behind a bush this morning. Not a pleasant experience. Even at camping places there were toilets and bathrooms. Here there were bushes and the river – Anduin, I had remembered – that substituted as a shower. Soap? Nope. Toothbrush? Heh, they had naturally white teeth around here, it seemed to me. I didn't even want to think about morning breath, even if a little test by breathing against my hand had let me to conclude that Elves apparently did not suffer from it.

"If you would put on your strange footwear, we can set out."

I repressed any renewed protest. I actually would have preferred to remain here for a while. I was hoping for another thunderstorm and swear solemnly I would have grabbed the nearest tree. With a bit of luck lightning would have hit and brought me back home. Boromir however was of the opinion that there would be no thunderstorm for the next few days.

He had even offered, with clear despair, to row me to Lothlórien. I had declined.

Friendly, but determined!

He was thankful – and I was, too!

Lothlórien!

Elves in abundance! They wouldn't have needed five minutes to see through me and throw me off the next talan. They automatically had to take me for Sauron's new devilry. No, if I couldn't wait for a thunderstorm here, then I would prefer to march with Boromir through the prairie to find his former companions.

"I can take the gear," I offered, and speculated that I would walk demonstratively slow with it.

"Thank you for the offer," the Gondorian sunshine boy with the heart of gold, who apparently had managed to overcome his weakness for ring-shaped articles of jewellery, smiled. Valiantly he shouldered the cloth roll with our provisions and began marching.

What other option did I have but to follow him? I didn't like it that he intended to go off so shortly after being critically injured. He could overstrain himself; drop dead for good and then I truly would be alone. A day in this nightmare had been sufficient to get used to him. Actually – _get used to him? _Hah! I would be lost should he decide to simply leave! Therefore it should be understandable that I worried about his welfare.

But it seemed he was healing quite well. In the morning, during an inconspicuous look through the undergrowth on the riverbank, where my hero was floundering about in the water with a naked torso, I had been able to see that the stab wounds were barely worth mentioning anymore. Well, at least they were becoming encrusted. 'Twas a good sign, I thought.

Anyway, he marched up the rising terrain without any signs of strain until we reached a fairly big clearing. There he suddenly stopped and looked around grimly.

I looked around to be careful and noticed with stunned horror the amount of charred bones lying around. "That's disgusting!"

"Uruk'hai," murmured Boromir and stood there with lowered head and tense shoulders. "This is where I died."

"Not quite," I reminded him.

The charred Uruk'hai were already horrible, but a guy like Boromir who fell to his knees and began crying was a lot more horrible. Embarrassed, I stood next to him and fingered one of my magic braids, which were still as perfect as the previous evening when I had curled up to sleep. These things seemed to survive quite well. "Boromir…"

"I should have protected the Hobbits," he whispered, most depressed. "Instead I hunted after the Ring and scared Frodo that he fled. The Hobbits were unprotected and it was my fault that the Uruk'hai succeeded in capturing them."

Quite true, but I couldn't really tell him that. Imagine this: This tall, strong guy, who did have an eerie similarity to the actor in the movie, dissolved here and whined. I was sorry for him, but I had always imagined that a battle-hardened protector in the wild would be a bit more robust. On the other hand, I was used to these emotional outburst from job experience. Even the greatest conqueror of the world had his weak moments when he heard the sound of a dentist's drill. Only motherly solace could help there. I'm good with that.

So I dropped to my knees in front of him and took one of his giant hands into my delicate Elven ones. "Everything is predetermined," I explained to him, hoping I was wrong. That, after all, would make my presence here very ominous. "And you resisted the Ring."

Wrong statement. His head rose in slow motion and he stared at me suspiciously. "What do you know of all this?"

"Only that which is told among my people." Or put into three movies, but that would have overwhelmed him. "The Lord of Rivendell sent out Nine Companions to destroy the Ring. From what I have heard the Fellowship came to here and broke apart."

He nodded silently. The suspicious gleam in his eyes had luckily vanished. It would surely have returned if I had told him the other details. Though I wasn't sure whether I was in Movie-verse or Book-verse. "The temptation of the ring is great. But you reacted quite well, right?"

Hm, that phrasing seemed to irritate him somewhat. I hadn't really gotten used to the formal manner of speaking yet. He would have to live with it. Anyway, he got up again, pulled me to my feet and began, in front of my astonished eyes, to walk to and fro' across the clearing.

"We have to get you a weapon, Lucy," he explained in the end, holding up an ugly black bow. "Can you handle a bow and arrows?"

Could I? I furrowed my brow. "I am not sure."

A few moments later I was standing at one end of the clearing, holding this bow in my hand and brooding over the question of whether the tree across the clearing would be terribly angry if I shot an arrow into it. On the other hand I might just as well hit one of the exemplars next to it, or my own foot. I took the arrow Boromir offered.

The Mary-Sue-Magic hit relentlessly!

The immortal with the incredible body, the violet eyes and the raven-black silky hair, who had crash-landed by means of lightning on Boromir's death boat, definitely knew something of archery. Mentally I stood beside myself, while my Alter Ego notched an arrow, drew the bow and perforated the tree just like that. I have to admit, I was flattered as my companion patted my shoulder, obviously thrilled.

The elation at least got me through the morning, which we spent walking through the woods like madmen.

* * *

In comparison to the march we took the next day, the trip through the forest had been a mere stroll. After a quiet night underneath the last trees at the forest's border, Boromir, the Resilient, suggested we walk to Rohan. Always westward then, with just the slightest heading south. I had nothing against that, but either important scenes in the movie had been left out or we were in Book-verse, where the way led over many steep and thus impassable precipices littered with rocks.

"I thought Rohan consisted of grasslands," I growled around midday, as still walking, I bit with my miraculously clean teeth into the Elven crisp bread. It was colourless, tasteless and enormously filling; the Elves were the inventors of the emergency ration pack.

"It won't be far now," my companion murmured, his gaze heroically and diffusely fixed to the distance. "Then it will be less difficult to read the tracks. What luck for us that of everyone the Dwarf is the easiest to recognize."

"Yes, what a luck," I repeated lamely. No idea what tracks Boromir was following. I couldn't recognize anything but rocks and dirt.

Moreover, my Mary-Sue-Magic was nowhere near full throttle. I always thought the nice Firstborn could run to the horizon without breathing any faster. As if! Either I was onlysometimes Elven or Tolkien had lied and Legolas was simply an exception because he exercised in secret. Without my running back home I would only have lasted an hour before I collapsed out of my shoes, which were not quite as good for cross-country as the producer had lauded them to be.

Thus we continued to the evening over rock and branch; then, to my special gratification, Boromir was exhausted first. The fellow looked a little pale. My malicious joy vanished with the notion that he could leave for his fathers for good.

"Are you still up to it?" he asked me, gasping for air.

I wouldn't be mean. "I could use a break."

We dropped to the ground where we stood and it took a while until we were somewhat revived. We had no desire for a campfire anyway, and moreover, one didn't have to be that obvious in this landscape.

"We will not be able to catch up to them," Boromir declared grimly at last, playing with two pebbles. The clicking noise seemed to calm him down, but it got on my nerves. "Maybe we should travel towards Isengard immediately, for that is where the Uruk'hai will bring the Hobbits."

"Saruman?" I cautiously asked.

"It could be nobody else. These Uruk'hai did not come from Mordor. They carried the sign of the White Wizard. I wish I knew how I should decide. My heart yearns for Minas Tirith_, _which shall soon be endangered by attacks from the East, but my heart also tells me that I cannot leave the Companions without help."

I had better not answer to that. Boromir was alive, and thus Canon was dead. Who knew what else would become a mess or how many other Mary-Sues were blundering about and creating confusion. It could very well be that I would meet one of my colleagues, and find that she had single-handedly saved the Hobbits from the Orcs, gone with Aragorn and Legolas to Isengard and convinced Saruman of the evil of his deeds. Or that the Evil had already triumphed and we would get into real trouble if we travelled further east.

"Let us follow the tracks for one more day," my friend, the wise warrior, decided after longer consideration. "If we haven't found them by them, we go to Edoras to find shelter. It may be a big detour, but in times like this one can only trust old friendships. Theóden King would never betray them. He is a friend of Gondor, even if my father has let the alliance rest for a long time. He will provide us with horses and provisions so we may survive the way to Gondor."

"Well, that should at least be something."

"Lucy, sometimes you really talk in a strange manner."

"Hey, I am an Elf who was hit by lightning. What do you expect?"

To my delight he laughed. Boromir had a very nice laugh that warmed one's heart. When he wasn't occupied stealing rings he was, without a doubt, a nice, helpful and honourable man, who didn't look bad in addition…

The panic attack hit me unprepared.

"Sleep, I will keep watch the first hours!" I snapped at the surprised Boromir, grabbing my shabby Orc-bow and scrambling up the nearest rock. There I cowered, with my back to the camp, and pretended to watch the wild landscape.

My hands shook, my knees anyway, and my heart had jumped into my throat. Horrified, I had just remembered that as a Mary-Sue, I still had to complete a love story. What if the poor Boromir was my victim? He had no part in my mishap and I really liked him too much to make him suffer from it.

The chances sadly were too good for this variant, if I thought about it. I had saved him, we were travelling together through this prairie, and as an Elven beauty I could really take him off his feet. Furthermore, I was a master in archery, wasn't I? The man had no other choice, if push came to shove.

* * *

I was in a dilemma. In the next days the thought resurfaced every now and then, and I caught myself watching Boromir suspiciously, searching for the first signs of him following me like a lovesick idiot. There wasn't anything to notice yet, though, and anyway, we were occupied. We followed a track that led us further and further West, with said slightest orientation south. If Boromir's expert remarks were to be believed, we were on a rather used track. Men, Uruk'hai, Dwarves, horses. Though one shouldn't really be surprised by the latter.

At a different time, in a different body, I probably would have enjoyed the journey very much. Rohan was a beautiful county, almost endless, gently wavy pastures, lush and brilliantly green. Sometimes, if the wind blew across the grass, it seemed as if waves moved through it, and it was a single ocean all the way to the horizon. To be honest, wind blew more or less constantly here. But then Rohan was a very abandoned country. We really met not a single soul. Just a few hares that sadly had to end up as our dinner, for Boromir was also very good at handling a bow.  
**  
**I showed female sensibility about this, though; and Boromir ended up having to skin and clean them. I did help him with eating them. It was a welcome difference to the crisp bread.

Boromir was quite the undemanding tour guide. He did not expect any lengthy talks, and if we did talk, then it was usually in the evenings at the fire, about the hares or what would be ahead of us. Furthermore he was quite informed concerning this part of the country, and I was an attentive listener. Which did not keep me from watching him suspiciously as soon as he got too nice.

While I was running behind him during daytime I concocted plans to keep the poor man from the damnation of falling in love with a fake Elf. Also, I had not given up hope to come back the same way as I had come here. Every small cloud in the sky caught my attention.

"That is just a cloud," Boromir said at some point, shaking his head. "It is too small for a thunderstorm."

"Am I that easy to see through?" I asked dejectedly and stared at my shoes. They wouldn't last much longer. Brand quality, pah!

"Just concerning the thunderstorm," he solaced me. Then, to my horror, he put his hands on my shoulders and waited until I looked at him. "I promise you, Lucy, that I will get you back to your home as soon as we get through this."

I confess that I had tears in my eyes involuntarily. He would be unable to keep that promise, but it was still moving. "Thank you, Boromir."

And then he winked at me before turning around and heading to a heap of burnt Orcs that uglified the landscape not too far from where we were. I already knew what this meant, and I also knew that I would absolutely not enter the dark forest that was distinguishable behind the pyre**. **I had never really liked the forest, and this one was a good deal more scary than the one in the movie.

Luckily, Gondor's hero did not feel like a walk in the forest, but he walked to and fro, like a pointer on the hunt around the Orcish barbeque, and examined the different tracks. I decided to unleash the Elf maiden within and helped him. It wasn't too difficult, as I really remembered these scenes.

"Many riders," I proclaimed dramatically and stared at a few flattened blades of grass, over which a rover of the army could have driven just as well. I wouldn't really see the difference.

"And the tracks of feet in between lead to the forest," Boromir stood next to me, doubling over. He turned the head and looked at me. "We could follow them."

"Not a wise decision," I claimed in pure self-interest. Ten horses wouldn't get me into the forest. The actual main characters had left it anyway, and I really didn't have to meet Ents. I had been spared the stranger creatures of Middle-earth so far, and I planned to keep it that way in the near future. "This forest is old. Very old."

A stolen line, but it worked. Boromir didn't seem very fond of the prospect of marching through Fangorn, either. He smiled rather lopsidedly and clapped me on my back. "To Edoras then, Lucy."

* * *

'To Edoras, then' meant a few days of foot march across the prairie. I have to confess, I always thought that the distance that Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf the White travelled before Gandalf had his show as a decrepit old man at the doors of Meduseld had been shorter. One must remember though, in Boromir's and my defence, that they had had horses.

Edoras lay on a hill, a single, lonely hill in a valley, through which a constant wind blew. I did not find anything new in that, but I was not prepared for the unreality that cloaked this place.

Elven eyes are keen, almost like binoculars, even if they look nicer, especially ones coloured like violets, like mine. Almost half a day's journey before we finally reached it, I saw the place for the first time with clarity, even if diminutive. During our approach I had sufficient time to get used to the strange atmosphere it emitted. At first I thought it was simply because I was seeing a settlement in this world for the first time. For a while that was true, even, but slowly I became aware of a different reason for my disquiet.

"It seems abandoned," I stated a few leagues away from the hill.

"They will be inside the cottages," my companion, who was slowly beginning to distinguish something, contradicted me."These are dangerous times, in which the safety of the wall is the only protection."

"If you say so."

A few hours later, during early afternoon, we both stood in front of the closed gates set into a really high wooden fence, and waited to be let in.

Boromir had called and finally hammered against the gate like a berserk. No one had looked across the top**, **even to drive away the troublemakers.

I gave Denethor's heir a long look.

"Abandoned," he got out, and I could see he felt the bitter taste of defeat. "You were right."

"Helm's Deep?" I proposed and felt really great. So superior!

"That will be it," he admitted and sighed. "We will have to continue marching. I know from descriptions where the Hornburg is located."

"Excuse me?" The beginning of hysteria in my voice came from sleep deprivation, hurting feet in destroyed shoes and the strong wish for a bed for the night. It wouldn't have to be a water mattress, but at least something that was more comfortable than a night on naked ground.

Boromir pointed at the door slightly angrily. "It is locked."

"I don't see a lock. So it had to be closed from the inside. They will have left at least a watcher here."

"No, they didn't. Don't ask me how they did it, but Edoras is empty and the gate closed from the inside. We have no way inside."

"As if!" I hissed and pushed away the appeasing hand that tried to touch my arm. "That would be a laugh."

I put myself in front of the gate and tried hard to think of a way to break into a king's place. Climbing up, the first solution, I dismissed in the face of the smooth logs from which the six meter high wall had been built. The Rohirrim, who were obviously not stupid, had peeled away the bark, which would have given at least a bit of hold.

"Although…"

I turned around. Boromir was standing behind me, holding a silvery, shining rope. He blinked at me, then tied this delicate thing to one of his arrows, took aim and placed the arrow true to aim in the structure of the gate.

I waited for him to begin with the climbing, but one look in his happy face told me that someone else had been elected for this job. He wasn't even wrong: an Elf should be better suited make a climb like that. A real Elf at least. In an ill mood, I snorted and grabbed the rope, scarcely thicker than a finger, in both hands, pulling on it to test the strength of the knot.

"What are you waiting for?" Gondor's hero desired to know.

"I don't have the faintest idea if I can climb," I mumbled without turning around. "The bolt of lightning, you remember."

"Of course you can climb," he stated, grabbing my waist to lift me up a way. "You are an Elf. Your folk can even walk on snow."

Shocked at his actionI really did manage toclimb up a bit – then immediately shrieked in indignation as I felt his hands underneath my behind. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm pushing you up!"

"And I will push a knife between your rips in a moment. Let me go right this instant!"

To be cautious I climbed a bit further, to get out of the reach of his hands, before I looked down. Boromir, ever the honourable man, stood beneath me with his arms crossed in front, and looked at me underneath the tunic, a wide grin on his face.

You wouldn't believe how fast one gets if one wants to spoil a man's view of one's jogging shorts. I was on top of the wall in less than ten seconds and leaned over it to threaten the still grinning Boromir with my fist. He waved at me in amusement.

"It can't continue like that," I growled and stormed to the closest ladder that led me down the back of the gate.

Now the mystery of the bolt in position on the inside was solved. On one side a long rope was tied that lay on the ground in disarray. The Rohirrim had probably kept the bolt suspended with it from the outside until the last had left the city. Then all they had to do was release the rope and it fell into place. I presumed that the riders also had a few who could scale the walls to open the gates upon return.

One of my Elvish moments overcame me, and blessed with the strength of the Firstborn I had little trouble pushing up the heavy wooden bolt. Forcefully, I pulled one of the gate wings open, and placed myself inside the passage with a wide stance. As I had already decided, it couldn't continue like that. I couldn't always be on the watch to see if Boromir was the destined object of a Mary-Sue romance I had no clue about.

With slight confusion he stopped in front of me, because I wouldn't let him pass with my arms stretched to both sides. "Lucy?"

"Boromir, kiss me!"

Silence lay over Edoras; only the wind sang its lament. Well, and Boromir coughed and choked because he had swallowed in shock, sadly into the wrong pipe.

"Oh please!" I cried indignantly. "You act as if…! I'm not an Orc!"

"No," he said hesitantly. "An Orc you are not. But why should I kiss you?"

I furrowed my brow over so much thickness. "So that we both finally know if we are only good friends or maybe a bit more. I don't want to be worrying about it all the time."

"Hm, is there a possibility that we are more than good friends?" He smiled apologetically. "Not that haven't thought about it. I am still only a man of flesh and blood. You are a beautiful woman. I mean Elf maiden. Really beautiful, but…"

"Boromir!" I reminded him sharply._  
_

Still, I was a bit surprised when he ended the discussion, grabbed me by my upper arms and drew me to his hero's breast. Before I could make any proposition as to the procedure, his lips lay on mine. I was treated to a nice kiss surprisingly gentle in execution. But nothing more.

After a few seconds we both gave up this venture, then he let me go and we looked at each other. Almost simultaneously we shook our heads. No, Boromir was not my victim. That was a great relief, and I smiled.

"Friends?" he asked and offered me his hand.

"Friends," I agreed, and took it.

* * *

**Many thanks to janelover1, Wing Commander Arnica Vinyaya, Indilwyn and Eleniel of Ithilien for reviewing and/or adding this story to their favourites. If I forgot anyone, please tell me and I will add him or her.**

**I also have a message from zita for all the reviewers: THANK YOU!**

janelover1: I am glad you liked it!

Wing Commander Arnica Vinyaya: Me like, too! The reason I translated the whole thing in the first place. Does your penname perchance have anything to do with the 'Artemis Fowl' series by Eoin Colfer. There was a Commander Vinyaya on the council, right?

Indilwyn: Well, here is more! And to be honest, sometimes I am tempted, too…

Eleniel of Ithilien: Here you are! 'Daughter of Star' would be the right translation of your name, wouldn't it? My Elvish is a little rusty…

* * *

_Comments will be honoured and forwarded to zita, as well. Answers can be found in the next chapter. Flames will be used for the fireplace._

_Many thanks for reading!_


	3. No pets! Absolutely not!

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Professor Tolkien, his estate and heirs as well as all others whose rights are protected. Nothing belongs to me, pure hobby, and the borrowed articles will be returned. No violation of copyrights are intended.

Translation Disclaimer: Plot and OCs belong to zita. I only translated, more people may enjoy this great story.

Translator's Note: Took me long enough, I am sorry. I had some trouble with the Internet.

**My most heartfelt thanks to True Colours, for her awesome beta reading.**

_Answers to reviews will be found at the bottom._

* * *

_**3. Chapter: No pets! Absolutely not!**_

_**Or: Do wild animals listen to your OFC? Does you OFC have two ferrets, one eagle and one Bengal tiger who follow her and fight for her?**_

'_Unusual.' If it had been possible for the speaker, she would have made an even more astonished face._

'_Yes, it could have been worse.' The other seemed relieved._

'_The balance is still disturbed.'_

'_Then we will have to restore it.'_

'_We will have to. He won't be satisfied otherwise.'_

'_All of it is very complicated. Too many melodies.'_

'_Not for him.'_

_

* * *

_

Edoras... It was like the visit to a giant open-air museum on Vikings during lunch break. It was empty save for a few crows, but everything one might need was there. I wandered with Boromir, who had drawn his sword in caution, through the narrow streets between the cottages, and we came ever closer to Meduseld, the Golden Hall of King Théoden.

"It was a hasty departure," Boromir explained, circling the pot that lay in the middle of the street.

"They took along only the most necessary," I added needlessly. It sounded good and earned me a nod of agreement.

"I wonder from what they fled with such haste. A horde of Orcs is no danger for Edoras and the Eorlingas."

Mouth open, mouth hastily closed again, I shrugged my shoulders. Of course there was this little detail that an enormous army of Orcs was on their way, and furthermore some rather ragged people from the mountains were plundering the lands, but too much knowledge can be harmful.

"Whatever it is," my new friend decided, "it is dangerous and we shouldn't stay here too long. It is best that we leave as soon as possible for Helm's Deep."

"But not today!" I whined, and dragged him by his sleeve towards the impressive building that was enthroned like an eagle's nest on top of the hill, shimmering golden like the Ark of the Covenant. "It is late already and I don't want to be surprised by these attackers on the plains. We are safe here until tomorrow morning."

"You just want to spend a night underneath a roof again," Boromir grinned good-naturedly. "You Elves are really lazy and spoilt."

"That has nothing to with it!" It really didn't. The Elf in me didn't care either way, but the Lucy within needed what little comfort this rustic place could offer.

Determined, I ran up the broad wooden stairs and examined the closed doors of the hall critically, then experimentally worked the bronze door handles. If this gate was closed as well, I would have an episode. Luckily, Middle-earth was spared that event.

I pushed open the right side of the door, Boromir the left, and sunlight streamed into the long hall behind the doors. Dust motes danced in the air and almost hid the vista to the throne decorated with gold sheets at the other end. From the ceiling several banners hung; the whole construction had an open roof framework, through which more light entered through a quadratic opening, under which a very big fireplace was built.

Indeed, the similarity to the long houses of the Vikings was astonishing. The hall might be a bit more elaborate and was missing the loam ground, but on the other hand it probably served more or less for every purpose at the same time. It was as deserted as the remainder of the town.

We entered the long room carefully and advanced to the fireplace. It did look different to the movie in here; one simply noticed that it was room in which people lived on a daily basis. At the walls, in the shadows, there were wide benches that probably served for sleep and I could have sworn that the meals for the inhabitants of the hall were usually cooked over this fireplace.

Boromir's steps echoed loudly on the rough wooden floor while mine were not to be heard. Even in running shoes Elves could apparently walk silently. A nice thing that might be useful some day.

"We are probably safest here", my companion decided, sitting down at one of the long tables that were situated behind a carved and painted row of pillars to our left. "We stay here this night. It is best if we look for any stocks of foodleft."

"Good idea." I waved at him and rushed off to look at the remainder of this building. Actually I rushed off because I wanted to go shopping. Though the tunic was nice, I was rather hoping to find other, far more useful clothes here.

I made acquaintance with another difference to the long houses in which there were not really many rooms. Meduseld was more varied in that aspect. Furthermore the floor sloped down. The foundation was laid of broken stones and there the accommodations, stores and other rooms necessary to support a court were to be found. The stores were not that interesting to me; Boromir would take care of that. I had heard his stomach growl as I left the hall.

I was more interested in Éowyn's wardrobe – or any other female creature's. Éowyn was just the only I could think of. The first room I checked though was not really a woman's chamber. It was greatly adorned and furnished and I figured that I was sneaking around in Théoden's bedchamber. I got out as quickly as possible.

The next room also belonged to a man, and a very untidy one at that. Everything lay in disarray, almost everywhere weapons and parts of armour. Éomer, I decided. His boots would certainlybe too big for me.

And then, finally, luckily… the chamber of a woman. I sighed lightly as I realized that untidiness was apparently anchored in Éowyn's genes. It didn't look much better than Éomer's room. Did this woman have no cleaning lady or maid or whatever it was called here?

Somewhat critically, I lifted the lid of an already overfull oaken chest and took out the wrinkled contents. I had expected Éowynto own at least a pair of trousers, but wrong. The shield maiden of Rohan apparently preferred to run about in dresses. If one was used to that, it might very well be comfortable, but I couldn't imagine crossing the prairie in one of these garments and collecting every burr that appeared around the corner.

"Oh, look at that!" Highly fascinated, I watched what was gleaming from the bottom of the chest. It wasn't gold, but nothing to be looked down on either. And now the question of what a shield maiden of Rohan wore underneath the armour was solved. Silk! That was lingerie, undoubtedly. Everything made from silk, mostly in muted colours, but really something. Exceedingly nicely embroidered tank tops and a kind of shorts with lace. Faramir would be truly delighted by the underwear of his future wife. At the moment I preferred to help myself unrestrainedly to these pieces, whichat least gave me some feeling of not having turned my back on civilization completely.

The first layer of clothes for the Elven body was thus secured and I even found a pair of really good boots made from dark brown leather, adorned with the typical designs found everywhere here in Meduseld.

That still didn't solve my problem of what to wear instead of Boromir's tunic, though. The tank tops on their own would surely delight Boromir's eyes, but I couldn't quite come to like the thought of being Rohan's playmate of the year.

Shortly after that I returned to the hall, in which Boromir had already laid a table with everything eat- and drinkable he had been able to find. He looked at me, nodded approvingly and immediately afterward furrowed his brow. This man was more sensible than I would have thought possible.

"You look so downcast, Lucy," he explained, and offered me a pewter cup of wine. "It can't be the clothes."

No, it really wasn't the clothes. My new gear was perfect. A pair of well-fitting brown leather trousers that could be tied at the shins and fit perfectly into Éowyn's boots. Additionally a shirt made from leather in the same colour, and a kind of vest, also leather, but smooth and undoubtedly made for a soldier. I had fought with the strings and buckles for a while and won in the end. They were good clothes, adorned in gold and silver and covered in the symbols for Rohan like the boots. And of course a helmet, a real Éomer-helmet, to put it that way, which I held in my hand at the moment. How I should handle the nosepiece, without staring cross-eyed all the time, I wasn't sure about.

And I looked good, really stunning. I had been able to convince myself of that in Éowyn's room, in which, a bit ashamed in a corner, a rather big mirror stood, made from plate of silver. That had been the first time that I had had a really good look at the Elven body and I was rather enthusiastic about it. This Elf really was dreamlike. If one could compose an ideal body somewhere, it would look somewhat like mine. To make it short: the proportions were perfect, the tummy flat, the legs long and slender, the face a dream, the hairstill stayed in place after days in the wilderness, and the breasts would make every plastic surgeon weep in awe.

"I found the clothes in a room in which everything was covered with blankets," I mumbled hesitantly.

Boromir's expression darkened. "It sounds as though a great loss has befallen Edoras."

"A very expensively furnished room," I added carefully. I couldn't really tell him that it had to have been Theodred's. How should an Elf know who was who here? "Like the king's."

"Théoden only had one child," Boromir considered, unsuspecting. "I think these dark times asked a great sacrifice of him."

To make it short – we drank a horrible lot. Boromir, because life was so wretched and Théoden's son dead, and I because I absolutely did not want to live here and no one understood me. The Elf in me was at least slightly drunk, the Lucy in me roaringly so. That made for a memorable experience. I could still fill our cups with a steady hand while my thoughts jumped around like a flipper ball.

And not much came of it, either. I guess I gave Boromir a speech about healthy teeth hygiene, but by that point he was so drunk that he only grunted now and then, while his face rested on a bitten apple core and it pushed against his cheek. In the end the rather sober Elf, who even became scary to me, moved him to one of the benches and went to keep watch in front of the door.

That was a bit too Mary-Sue for the drunk Lucy. I moved from the steps to another bench, collapsed on it and slept out my intoxication.

* * *

Even if Elves can appear totally sober on the outside, they can have a hangover. I know, because the next morning I awoke with a piercing headache. It was already there before I was quite awake and so I stayed lying down, unmoving, and coordinated the opening of my eyes as a longer venture. I began with careful blinking and testing if the level of morning light in Meduseld could possibly harm my already harmed Elven brain further. Luckily this hall wasn't exactly a bright building. A rather nice twilight surrounded me, along with the obligatory smell of horses that penetrated everything here, that of leather, straw, hay and old beer mixed with wine. The latter probably stemmed from the fact that neither Boromir nor I had tidied up our cups and mugs.

My blood alcohol was nowhere near its normal level and that might explain why it took several seconds for me to notice the presence of a third living being.

On the table, very close to me, sat a rat, calmly gnawing at the apple core that Boromir had pressed so lovingly against his cheek the evening before. Slightly repulsed, I straightened myself and made a few shooing motions towards the rodent, which was about as impressed as the table on which it sat.

"It's not leaving," called Boromir, who had entered through the door with wet hair. Gondorian morning toilette seldom incorporated the use of towels, that much I had already noticed. "I think he likes you."

The sudden sick feeling came only partly from the abuse of alcohol from the evening before. The larger part was due to an unpleasant memory of an hours-long debate in my living room, in which Kevin and his buddy had made fun of the fact that all the time cute animals stuck to heroines of a certain kind of fan fiction. His future girlfriend, that traitorous wench, had even defended that weirdness. And I didn't really think it that bad back then, either.

One soon changes one's opinion if sitting opposite a rat. I have to admit though that it was a very well cared for rat. No sticky fur on which fleas were abundant, but a shining mass of uncommonly light colour and a pointy face with brown eyes that were looking at me challengingly over the rim of the apple core.

Boromir anyway had fun. "I have already heard that animals have a special bond with Elves. Until now however I thought this had more to do with horses and inhabitants of the forest."

"Shut up, Gondorian," I growled, marching majestically towards the water trough in front of the hall to chase away my bad mood and find a secluded place to get rid of the by now biologically processed alcoholics. My bladder was killing me.

"It seems we are not a morning Elf," he called after me laughingly.

One cannot escape one's destiny. No matter where I turned, this little rat ran after me. When we had finally packed all our things, including the borrowed provisions, it sat on my pack and watched me rebelliously again. I went down on my knees and tapped it lightly with my index finger.

"Just so we understand each other, you little bastard," I murmured so quietly that Boromir would not notice anything and make fun of me with it for the remainder of the day. "I'm not doing this voluntarily. The psychopath who thought this up and wanted a rat of all things for a pet sadly did not arrive here. So don't get on my nerves, or you will become Warg fodder!"

The rat, which according to Boromir's certain belief was a 'he', accepted the arrangement. What other choice did it have? It was just as much of a victim of slightly weird Mary-Sue-magic as was I. Which didn't mean that I liked it any the better. If I had had a say in the matter, the damned animal would have walked on its own four paws, but Boromir gave me such an accusing look – after finally suppressing his laughter – because of that decision, that I begrudgingly allowed it the option of travelling on my pack.

* * *

"He needs a name," Boromir proclaimed a day later during breakfast in the prairie.

Slowly I was becoming really sorry that I'd made friends with the guy. He must still have been carrying a secret grudge against Elves, otherwise he wouldn't have been trampling on my nerves like that.

"That's a rat! It doesn't need a name!"

Boromir threw the remainder of the tea-like brew we always put together from Théoden's kitchen stock into the campfire and got up to stretch a lot. While at it, he gave of a noise like a bear with digestive problems. I figure all of this was supposed seem really manly.

"Of course he needs a name," he stated, biting into a piece of dried meat. That guy was mad for these strips of dried up cow. For lack of cigarettes or toothpicks it was in the corner of his mouth almost the whole day. If Middle-earth needed an invention urgently, it was that of chewing gum. "Think of one, or I will."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"Did it sound like one?"

That did it. Boromir might be brave, but I was absolutely certain that the rat's name would be a disastrous mix of making fun of me and a total lack of taste on his part. So I spent half the day wandering through Rohan and thinking of a name I could live with. In between I was overwhelmed by a strong desire of revenge against all who had gotten me into this situation.

The situation simply did not get better, dryly considered. Maybe my dark musings this day had to do with that fact that again a clear blue sky spanned over the pasture of the horse-breeding people. No thunderstorm anywhere in sight; I could go mad. With each ray of sunlight my chances of going back home into my jobless and familiar life dwindled. Instead I plagued myself with the dangers of a culture that didn't even want to invent the toothbrush and water flushing. Should Boromir simply leave me in the middle of nowhere, I would whither. I was not so lost to reality that I believed that the Elven Lucy could really survive. The whole affair was too messed up to that. The real Mary-Sue who should be here instead of me would surely not have hadthe slightest difficulties, but it was an entirely different thing for me.

No sense of direction, no idea of the plot of _this _story and special skills that at the moment only included having a great hairdo and being capable of archery, for whatever reason. I didn't even know who was my supposed love object. Well, luckily it wasn't Boromir, but that left a lot of other candidates.

From Aragorn, who actually was bound to such a great person as Arwen was, to the Hobbits – I prayed that that wasn't the case – to Éomer, the Untidy, to Sauron anything was possible. Maybe the story was entitled 'Sauron's Bride'.

The latter even made me smile. With such a relationship the endearment 'apple of my eye' gained a whole new meaning. But that was it. To live in Mordor was not what I imagined as a nice future.

Oh, and I had totally forgotten the other one. The Elf of Elves, that thin herring, who had come out with strange things like 'A red sun is rising. Blood has been spilled this night.' Or something like that at least. Possibly he had the intellect of my four-pawed companion.

An evil mood suddenly overcame me. I probably looked like Galadriel at the Mirror with the Ring in front of her, as I grabbed the male rat out of his comfortable cave in my gear. He squealed and looked at me very disapprovingly.

"Boromir thinks you need a name," I told him quietly, and my grin grew wider. The rat played with his ears nervously. "I will call you Orly."

"Sounds funny," Boromir commented over his shoulder. "But it will probably work for a rat."

"Yes," I delighted, and it was clear that my companion did not really understand, because he turned to watching the landscape after furrowing his brow. I wasn't so sure about my male rat. He stared at me really angrily and bared his little sharp teeth. "If you bite me, I'll turn you into ragout and use your fur for a glove. Or I will feed you to the crows up there in front."

The subconscious is always a step ahead. As soon as I had said that, I did in fact recognize a complete swarm of dark birds circling over a spot not far from us. I stuffed Orly back into my bag, took the new bow of Rohan Boromir had borrowed from Théoden's armoury, and caught up to my companion, who had taken the bow from his back already, too.

"Can you see something?" he asked, and the tension had made the good mood evaporate. Boromir was again Boromir as I knew him.

"Cadavers," I explained, thinking of the scene with the Warg-riders. "Wargs and Orcs. A few horses."

"Any Men?"

I shook my head. That would have been just the thing. Counting corpses! No, with Elven far-sight I let the scene leave its impression on me and noticed that I slowly got used to dead meat. I didn't quite have the urge to puke behind the next shrubbery. It was the untidiest battlefield so far, not even a pyre. The Rohirrim had really been in a hurry.

"That can mean a lot of things," considered the only real warrior in our group. His expression was very serious and I noticed a certain uneasiness in him. "We should walk around the area. I don't want to risk meeting more attackers, even if I know an Elven warrior to be at my side."

The reflex to look for this warrior was strong and I withstood it really only by a hair's breadth. Boromir was talking about me, and this was not the right time to make him understand in all clarity that he was on his own. And I would be lost beyond salvation if a Warg were to rip him apart. "Agreed," I trilled.

* * *

I should have known better than that. Where was the problem in walking through a pile of stinking remains? They couldn't really do anything anymore and against the smell surely a cloth or holding breath would help. But no, we took a detour, down the hill and quite a distance underneath a cliff, along the river. Alarmed by a premonition, I tried really hard to figure out what might go wrong now. Before I could arrive at a conclusion, Boromir's call woke me from my thoughts.

"There! In the river bed!" He pointed to the front excitedly and promptly began running.

I followed more slowly, much more slowly. To be precise, I dallied and hoped for a hallucination. My hesitation had to do with the unmoving figure lying at the river's shore and being nuzzled by a horse.

"Who might that be?" I growled unhappily.

Orly felt talked to and wandered up my arm to my shoulder. One moment I considered drowning him in the river unnoticed by Boromir, but I never got the chance to do that, because the Gondorian waved to me. The man next to whom he knelt and who had such a deep and close and somehow strange relationship with his horse, wasn't dead yet. What a surprise!

"Lucy!" Boromir yelled and I was sure that latest by now every last surviving Orc had heard us. "This is Aragorn."

"Really? I wouldn't have thought," I murmured quietly, and Orly made an agreeing sound. I took all my courage and came closer with decisive, even if still slow, steps, closer to the next mine of incalculable Mary-Sue-magic.

After having displayed a hysterical attack followed by fainting during my first contact with a real Middle-earth hero, I did much better this time. I simply stopped walking a few paces away from the Men, and let them celebrate their reunion. They had enough to talk about after all.

Aragorn seemed to believe himself to be hallucinating in the beginning, and it took Boromir some work to explain to him that none of them were dead. In the meantime – Boromir explained that I had saved him and then that we had run after them – I had time to examine the future king for similarities to his actor. Definitely there, was my conclusion. For precisely this reason an exact description of this guy should be unnecessary. However, there were a few divergences, for example he was really sopping wet, his clothes were only half as dirty as one would have thought, and his eyes twice as piercing. At least when Boromir was talking of me and he looked in my direction.

After all the pleasantries had been exchanged, ones Tolkien didn't even know existed, and Aragorn had returned to Boromir, in an almost celebratory manner, the arm guards that had come into his possession by scavenging, it was my turn.

Still a little weak, he straightened out, found his centre rather quickly and lightly bowed to me. "I greet you."

And I said nothing. It seemed better to me. Instead I slightly inclined my head and hoped he didn't think anything because of the rat that still sat on my shoulder. I _so _should have drowned Orly!

"Boromir has told me that a very strange fate brought you to him." There! The man had a look that was terrifying. One felt so small, even smaller than a Hobbit. Furthermore, suspicion dripped from every syllable.

"So it seems," I answered under duress, and wondered why my voice sounded somehow differently. Only Boromir's clueless expression told me that we two were talking Elvish. Weird, really! For me it was all the same.

"He also told me it had left you very confused." Mister King strolled closer. The guy was tall and had wide shoulders and was of a rugged look and additionally he somehow did not believe a single word I said. "So confused that you can't even remember your name."

Abracadabra, there she was again. I straightened my shoulders, was suddenly very arrogant and slightly lowered my voice. Mary-Sue had come to the rescue. "But then again I remembered how I can drag a man from the water that his friends left to die."

A few clear words usually clear matters quickly. Aragorn was no longer plagued by more than a few doubts that I was real, after I had thrown that friendly remark into his face at the riverside. That said a great deal about what the Elven standard personality was in this world.

Maybe it was also due to him wanting to reach the retreat of the Rohirrim. If I understood him correctly, we had had an inordinate amount of luck in remaining unnoticed by the ENEMY so far. So it wasn't really surprising that we were underway again shortly after, he on the horse, since he was clearly somewhat battered,and Boromir and I on foot, which didn't really bother me. My riding skills were rather underdeveloped, and I did not want to trust Mary-Sue.

* * *

For the next few hours Boromir and Aragorn talked like rumourmongers without break, to exchange all news. I kept to myself in a rather pronounced fashion and walked a distance behind them, Orly still on my shoulder. To watch the two Men was almost more surreal than Edoras. They were fictional, actually. At least I had always assumed that. But maybe all that was an error and the world I was from was fictional.

This was all very confusing and did not help to lighten my dark mood. Additionally it robbed me of sleep. Who would be surprised then that I volunteered to keep watch in the night? Boromir the clueless accepted the offer thankfully, while Aragorn watched me thoughtfullyand sat down on a rock close to me with his funny long pipe. We hadn't lit a fire yet again, but the moon was bright… a song, a song!

Memories – the musical song from "Cats" – rang in my ears, but I kept my mouth firmly shut to keep from giving in to the mad urge. That appeared to me like a scene in a cowboy-parody I had seen once. Every time the well-dressed cowboy ate a strange plant he had to burst into song. Madness? Yes, but I felt the urge even without this plant. _That_ is really madness.

I distracted myself with thinking about this story. By now it was glaringly obvious that I was in the movie-verse. At least the movies were the dominating part. For in the book Aragorn had never fallen into the water. However, what had been cut from the movie for dramaturgical reasons I had to put up with as well. That included the fact that the journey across the Riddermark took several days all in all. But then we had nice weather, which was not really supportive of my thunderstorm-addiction.

A cloud of smoke was blown over to me, and I couldn't keep myself from looking towards Aragorn almost triumphantly. I had always known that that pipe weed had to be an illegal mix. One recognizes the smell beyond a doubt. No wonder that they all smiled in such a satisfied manner when smoking their pipes. Aragorn noticed my look, which shouldn't surprise as he was looking at me all the time anyway through half-lidded eyes, and he took that event for reason to get up and seek my presence. Only a rock away he sat down again, noticeably more relaxed due to the Middle-earth mix in his pipe.

"Boromir told me you are from the North," he mentioned quietly after a while.

I sighed. I would be unable to lie to this guy, at least not on this topic. Unlike Boromir, he knew the Elven people intimately. What did one do in such a situation? New lies, which the future King of Gondor would surely not find funny?

"I don't know where I am from," I finally answered equally quietly, and shot him a glance from the corner of my eyes to gauge his reaction. He simply nodded. "Everything is worse than I told him. That bolt of lightning did a lot of damage and left me with very little."

"It was enough to save a mortal," the weed-smoking King said forgivingly.

We came closer to the moment in which I once again questioned myself whether Aragorn was the one I was supposed to bedazzle with my unheard-of allures and walk down the aisle to. A thought that really, really didn't sit well with me. One knows that: first you fight, later you have hot make-up sex. I didn't want to fight, nor have hot sex with a man who was almost four times my age and furthermore bound to a true dreamlike Elf of noble descend. The experience I had made with Kevin and that stupid cow of his LotR fan club had been too painful for me to consider taking a man already in a relationship.

"That was a coincidence," I told him absentmindedly.

With Boromir the testing kiss had worked quite well, but here more subtle methods were called for. I didn't want to kiss Aragorn. Where would that lead anyway? I couldn't very well run through Middle-earth and while at it ask every somewhat good-looking male being to kiss me to find out who was meant for my Mary-Sue after all. I could have shuddered at the idea of it.

"That sounded different, though, back there," Aragorn contradicted without much ire. "Even if it seems to me that I asked for your harsh words."

"Did you?" I wouldn't get so close to him that quickly. Better to keep my distance and be cold to him. So no letting him take the blame. "It was more likely because you noticed my insecurity this quickly."

Oh, I learned so fast. This talking in circles in nice words still got on my nerves, but I composed myself.

"We will find a way to help you," he told me, full of conviction.

"But only when the other problems are solved," I said derisively. "An Elf that can only remember bits and pieces of her own life really isn't the greatest threat in existence."

"No," was his dark answer. "First we have to get to Helm's Deep."

Well, what should I answer to that without making him suspicious again? But silence was something the ranger excelled at. So we both sat there in the night and followed our own thoughts. Aragorn's were apparentlyvery closely related to the starry sky above us, and his expression was longing. It didn't seem to take much to provoke the meaningful sighs that enamoured guys seemed prone to utter. My hope grew.

"Whom do you see up there?" I asked in an onset of subtlety.

A man who could still blush. That was something. "The star my heart belongs to."

"Arwen."

Surprised, he looked at me. "If you still remember only little – the little is still rather noteworthy."

Nonchalantly I shrugged my shoulders. I would have liked even more to grin widely at him. So everything between him and Elrond's daughter was alright. No danger for me, very nice. "You love her very much."

_Please, say yes!_

"More than my life."

Yes! For now I really was safe.

"But she will leave these shores. Here she will be doomed to die."

"We'll see about that." This time I really grinned and it was not because I had inhaled too much of the sweet smoke of his pipe weed.

* * *

_Thoughts, comments? Do you like how Lucy is developing?_

_Reviews will be welcomed, forwarded to zita and answered in the next chapter.  
_

**Thank you for reading!**

Many thanks here go to Loslanna, Scarlet Rebelle, Antigone1Evenstar, Wing Commander Anica Vinyaya, Dragonrider 125, luad, FireKumori mage, popanne, d. and Stori Booke for reviewing and/or adding the story to their favourites and/or the alert list.

Loslanna: I hope you like this one, too!

Antigone1Evenstar: Indeed, poor Lucy. And it gets worse. Now she has a pet, too!

Wing Commander Arnica Vinyaya: I am glad you like it – and I share your sentiments. Fangirl of LotR in general, not only of single characters! Yay! Here's the next chapter!

popanne: Jep! Definitely zita forever! And I am glad you liked it!


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